The Tarkheena's Guard
by Eavis
Summary: When the gatekeeper of Lasaraleen Tarkheena inadvertently overhears a second plot for the overtaking of Narnia, he becomes part of a dangerous scheme concerning pirates, slaves, and Calormen itself...
1. Chapter 1

"Here. All of you. And you, doorkeeper." The Tarkheena gestured languidly to Othniel, including him with the guards and various slaves around the door.

Othniel grinned. He could hardly wait to hear what was coming this time. Last time Lasaraleen had demanded everyone keep a lookout for any unicorns, and catch them so she could have one with which to win a bet. Unicorns! As if there were any unicorns in Calormene - or anywhere else, for that matter!

"No one is to be let out of the house today," Othniel's mistress continued, and his grin faded slightly. If no one was to be let out, then his post as doorkeeper was practically useless. "And anyone I catch talking about this young lady," Lasaraleen motioned to the beggar-brat that had just climbed off the litter, "will be first beaten to death, then burned alive, and kept on bread and water for six weeks."

His eyebrows shot up, but knew better than to object. His mistress had strange ideas sometimes, and it was better to humour her. She usually forgot about them in a week anyway.

But Othniel was curious about the girl that had come in with the Tarkheena Lasaraleen. She had not gone out in the litter with her, and was dressed like beggar; not at all the kind of girl the Tarkheena usually associated with. He determined to find out all he could about her, being (as his father had told him many a time) cursed with most insatiable curiosity.

After his watch was over, he hung around the kitchen listening to the staff gossip, but could find out nothing except that the beggar girl had two horses. Thinking it odd that a such a mendicant looking person as that girl would have a horse at all, not to mention two, he wandered out to the stables to have a look at them.

"I heard there were some new horses. Can I have a look at them?" Othniel asked Rsith, one of the under-grooms.

"To be sure, though they aren't much to look at - all muddied over and tails a mess. It'll be a job to clean them up, and even then -" Rsith shrugged and walked off.

Othniel sauntered over to the first stall - a large, dappled stallion with a _very_ raggedy cut tail was the occupant - and whistled softly. The horse looked at him, snorted and turned his back. Othniel laughed.

"Hey, boy, I'm not that bad, am I? You know, you really are lucky. You'll be out of here in a day or two. I'm stuck here for life. You don't even know that you're a slave, I bet. All you ever think about is where your next meal is coming from."

The horse glanced at him over its shoulder.

"I wish," Othniel lowered his voice and looked about hastily, feeling slightly ridiculous talking to a horse like it was a human, "I wish I could stop thinking and longing for freedom."

The horse turned back around and nuzzled him, and Othniel thought he heard someone say "Come to Narnia, and be free with us."

Othniel started and looked around - he had been sure no one was around - and yes all the grooms were busy at their work, and anyway he had no interest in Narnia; the land of ice and snow and queer, ferocious beasts that, some said, talked with the voices of men. Why, he had even heard rumours that there were men with goat's hooves, like in the stories his mother used to tell him. Othniel shook his head briskly and walked to the adjacent stall and looked at the other horse.

This one was a mare - a light dun colour, and she looked a trifle skittish, dancing backwards when he leaned on the door.

"Ssss, sss, lady, easy," Othniel whispered, holding a hand out, "I'll not hurt you, my pretty one." She stared at him for a moment, then with a toss of her head, let him stroke her nose. He ran a hand down her neck, noting the well-kept mane, in spite of the dirt stains that were likewise visible. "You're a lovely creature, you are," he crooned. Then Othniel noticed Risith looking at him oddly and cleared his throat. With a final pat for the mare he left the stables and returned to his guard duty.

The next morning, when he reported for duty to the head steward, the Steward glanced at his list and said, "Ah yes, yesterday's doorkeeper."

Othniel bowed in acknowledgment, but inwardly he was a bit fearful. The steward was notorious for being exacting, and he was fiercely loyal to the Tisroc. A hint from him that you were conspiring against the Tisroc (may he live forever) and you disappeared.

"Your orders for today are to follow your mistress, the Tarkheena Lasraleen if she leaves the palace." The Steward flipped to the next page of notes, not at all seeming to realize what horrific thing he had said, or that Othniel was gawping at him. "You are to make sure that she is not plotting against her husband or the Tisroc (may he live forever) with that beggar maid she came in with yesterday. You are to report _anything_ suspicious to me at once on pain of death! Is that understood, slave of the great god Tash?"

"Yes sir," Othniel replied, a shiver passing through him, "To hear is to obey." As he bowed and left as fast as he could, his fear disapated and he grinned to himself. What a perfect opportunity to satisfy his insatiable (as his estimable mother had called it) curiosity and find out about the beggar girl. Late that afternoon, as he was going toward the barracks to change his tunic (he'd dirtied it helping Rsith muck the stalls) he saw his mistress and what appeared to be a superior slave girl going towards the rear entrance of the palace, the slave girl with a heavy veil over her face. Mindful of his instructions, Othniel followed at a safe distance.

A very few minutes brought them to the palace gates. Here there were of course soldiers on guard but the officer knew the Tarkheena quite well, and called his men to attention and saluted. Othniel followed; the sentries knew him and let him pass - he'd often been sent on errands. They passed at once into the Hall of Black Marble. A fair number of courtiers, slaves and others were still moving about here, but this only made Othniel less conspicuous. They passed on into the Hall of Pillars and then into the Hall of Statues and down the colonnade, passing the great beaten copper doors of the throne room. It was all magnificent beyond description; what he could see of it in the dim light of the lamps.

Presently they came out into the garden-court, which sloped downhill in a number of terraces. On the far side of that they came to the Old Palace. It had already grown almost quite dark and they now found themselves in a maze of corridors lit only by torches fixed in bracket to the walls. Othniel's mistress paused here at a place where you must go either left or right.

"Go on, do go on!" he heard the slave say.

"Ha!" thought he, "It must be the beggar maid. No slave in Calormene would dare address their superiors like that - but then no beggar maid would either. And those horses - they were no vagrant's mounts. Then she must be something else. Something much different than she seems." Backing up his thoughts, just then Lasraleeen said,

"I'm not sure…I think it's the left, yes, I'm positively certain it is the left. Oh, what fun this is!"

Othniel could not agree with her. He was weary of all the nothing happening and thinking of all the sleep - and the evening meal - he was missing. Not to mention the questions he had no answer for. But suddenly he saw lights ahead and spied his mistress and the girl with her (he could no longer call her beggar) grope back along the passage and disappear into a room. He did not have time to do the same, though his blood was chilled at the thought of someone his mistress would fear to meet. He retreated hastily down the passage a way, but not so far that he could not see if the door opened. As the lights progressed further down the hall he recognized with shock the Tisroc and the Grand Vizier, and following them, Crown Prince Rabadash. They entered the same room as the Tarkheena had, and Othniel wondered anxiously if it _was_ possible for his scatterbrained mistress to be in league with the Tisroc against her husband or Tash. But thinking back, Othniel remembered the frantic, fearful haste the two girls had looked to be in, and concluded that they were just as surprised as he at seeing the Tisroc (may he live forever) and the others.

After about twenty-five minutes of anxious, nearly breathless waiting, the door opened and Prince Rabadash came out and ran down the hall eagerly (fortunately the opposite direction from Othniel). After another ten minutes the Grand Vizier came out. Soon after him came the Tisroc himself flanked by two servants he recognized as deaf and dumb slaves! Othniel knew that they were only used at the most secret councils, so he wondered what the Tisroc (may he live forever) and the others had been talking about. He sighed. His mother would say it was his insatiable curiosity and doubtless would have given him an affectionate swat. Too well did he know the dangers of meddling in affairs of the nobles. The Tisroc and the slaves went down the hallway, and soon after Othniel saw the Tarkheena come out followed by the maiden.

He continued following them, more to satisfy his own inquisitivity than to report to the Steward, for he had determined to tell none of what he had seen. It would do no one any good and mostly likely much ill. He stood in the shadows watching as they came to a small water gate.

The girl talked to the Tarkheena for a couple minutes, embraced, the Tarkheena Lasraleen, undid the gate, and slipped into a punt that was lying hard by.

Othniel and Lasaraleen made their individual ways back to her palace and the next morning, when he reported for duty to the Steward, he said nothing of what had passed. To Gaspian he told a story somewhat nearer the truth, and excused his absence to his commander with a story of getting drunk and losing track of the time. The officer looked at him suspiciously, for Othniel rarely got drunk, but inquired no more into the matter.


	2. Chapter 2

Years had passed since Othniel followed the Tarkheena and her friend on their secret journey to the water gate. He had found out the 'beggar' was the Tarkheena Aravis, daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan, and that she had run away from her father's house in order to avoid marrying the new Grand Vizier Ahoshta Tarkaan. Rumour had it she had married the new king of Archenland, King Cor.

The new Tisroc, Prince Rabadash, had been turned into a donkey by the northern barbarian god, and had only been healed in the temple of Tash in the sight of about four or five thousand people, and the affair was never completely hushed up. Rabadash was good for a joke nearly all the time, as long as you made sure no spies or Tisroc's guards were about.

It was nearly five years later when Othniel was talking with his friend Gaspian about a new rule that the Steward had made, something about doubling the shift of guards in the afternoon, when an order came for him to go to the Tarkheena at once.

"Me?" Othniel asked, startled and a little worried, "By all the gods, why?" Lasaraleen very rarely called for guards at all; guards by name, never. He hurried to the Pillared Room, where his mistress usually resided during the day. When Othniel got there, his mistress was alone, except for her pet monkey, and she seemed very distraught.

"You called me, Milady?" He was careful to keep his face impassive - the upper class seemed to take any sign of expression or intellect from the lower as a personal affront.

Lasaraleen turned to face him. "I have been told by my steward that you were told to shadow me several years ago; when that beggar girl was here. Did you do so?"

"Yes, Noble Tarkheena."

"Then you - you saw us go to the Old Palace, and -"

"I did, Tarkheena."

"But - you did not tell the steward."

"No, O my mistress."

"Why not? Doubtless the Tisroc (may he live forever) would have paid well to hear of it."

"Flower of the nobility, I did not see that anyone would profit from it especially, and I knew you would be harmed if I told of it."

"What cared you for that? For my safety?"

"Tarkheena, consider. If I had told, I would doubtless have been tortured to ensure I was hiding nothing else. There was no profit in it for me, and indeed loss."

Lasaraleen seemed to consider for a moment, then with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, said, "Well, now that you are here, I have an errand for you. Carry this invitation to the Tarkheenas Jozabath, Rilleen, Cisrralarn, and Tlith -no, not Tlith, she was _so _rude last time, I couldn't possibly invite her - asking them to my festivity tomorrow night. I will have to get a new outfit made, call in Vaizatha to do my hair - I believe I will have her do the one I had three weeks ago - his highness prince Zalmon liked that one - and then for my dress -" she recalled herself. "But you're a slave, and a guard, and are not interested in such things. Be sure to return within two hours."

Othniel bowed and left, wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. To have gotten off thus lightly - the gods must be watching over him. And this errand - _two hours_. She must be judging from the time she would spend on such an task. Ah, well. At least he would not need to hurry.

As Othniel walked towards the Old Palace, invitation in hand, his thoughts went back to that day, almost five years before, when he had followed this same path. As before, there were guards at the gate, as before, the corridors beyond the gate were dark, lit only occasionally by torches. He knew the apartments of the ladies he was to carry the invitation to were connected to the Old Palace - they were some of the Tisroc's many wives. All he had to do was hand the message to the eunuchs outside the door leading to their living quarters and then return to duty. Except he didn't want to go back yet, and have all the others crowd around asking what had happened. The recollection of dark, impassive yet curious faces and the smell of olive oil and garlic suddenly swept over him and he was surprised at the aversion he felt at going back.

So it was with a great and delicious sense of wrongdoing, such as he had not had since he was a boy swiping cakes from the fat, bad-tempered vender on the corner of the marketplace, that he set off exploring down the dimly lit halls.

As he was passing a hall (there were a number of these at intervals), he remembered idly that it was the place where he had turned five years ago, when he had been following the Tarkheenas. He hesitated a minute outside the opening, wondering how much time he had left, and if he wanted to use it up exploring this way, when he heard voices coming towards him. His eyes grew wide - he wasn't supposed to be here and he knew it. Even if it were only some servants, he would have too much explaining to do. He swiftly and quietly ran down the hall, hoping that he would be able to find his way out from the end of this passage. But either someone knew he was here, and was trying to catch him, or there really _were_ ghouls in the Old Palace, and they were playing a cruel trick, because he heard soft, shuffling footsteps coming from ahead of him.

In a blind panic now, he groped back along the passage until he found a door. He opened it and stumbled inside. His eyes darted around, searching for someplace to hide in case they came in. He wanted to hide, to be safe, to never have - wait, no. He wanted to not _have _to hide. He wanted to _be_ somewhere safe. But for now, behind the couch would do. He curled up into the smallest ball he could and prayed desperately to all the gods that no one would come in.

But the gods must have been sleeping or drunk or something, for he heard voices outside the door and then -curses!- it opened.

To Othniel's utter astonishment, in came the Tarkaan Ahserim, Lasaraleen's husband, with the Tisroc's second son, Jahaziel.

Ahserim entered first and stood respectfully next to the couch while the Prince sat on it. "Now, Tarkaan, you have finialized the plans you spoke of yestereday?"

"Even so, my Lord. You know that your brother, the Honorable High Prince Rabadash, Son of the Glorious Tisroc (may he live forever) Lord of-"

"There is no need to repeat all those titles, which, as you said last evening, will soon be worthless." The coldness of his voice was enough to freeze hell-fire. "One might almost think you loved my brother."

After a barely perceptible pause the Tarkaan went on. "Your brother Rabadash, as you know, O son of the ever-living Tisroc, went on that Ridiculous venture to the north, got turned into an ass, now cannot go ten miles from Tashbaan. But, my Master and Delight of my Eyes, _thou _shall manage better."

"Instead of attempting to cross the desert, a most fool-hardy and hot-blooded venture, we gather the soldiers I have been assembling secretly, and sail for Cair Paravel. Since they will not be expecting any attack, particularly not so soon after the Honourable - after Rabadash has attempted the same, we shall take the city in a matter of hours, slaughtering all within the castle, except, of course, the Queens. I will have the younger one, and you, O Illustrious Highness, shalt have the Queen Susan that thy brother so recently coveted."

Jahaziel permited himself a cold smile. "I will teach her a sharp lesson first and then make her my slave. We will see how her brothers protect her then."

Ahserim bowed gracefully with an oily smile. "Even so, my Master. Perhaps you will even spare the brothers' lives, that they might witness the fall of their House?"

"Perhaps. I will think on it. Had you finished?"

"Nearly, my Master. After conquering Narnia, we then return to Calormen in triumph for having accomplished what the Tisroc's eldest son failed to do. Rabadash will, ah, 'accidentally' fall ill and die, and thou, O most esteemed Prince, will be Tisroc!"

Othniel heard this with shock. Plotting against the Tisroc! For such this assuredly was. Indubitably, he ought to summon guards at once - except - he stopped. They would never believe him even if he did tell them. A lone guard's word against the Tisroc's son and one of the nobility! Othniel would be declared insane at best, but mostly likely the Watch would find his body in an alley a couple days later. No, obviously telling the guard was not a good plan. Then what was? He could always go back and pretend nothing had happened, but - wait. The rest of what they were saying. . .conquering Narnia? Killing everyone? Though he had been a guard in Calormen, slaughtering people - even when they weren't strictly _people_ - was something he abhored. Not that there was anything he could do about it. Certainly not. But then again, he couldn't go back, knowing about such a perfidious plot and not saying anything.

Oh Tash, what was he supposed to _do? _Unbidden, a whisper from his past came to him. "_My son, it is given to men to die once, but after that, the judgement..._" His mother - his mother had said that. It was true, a man could only die once. Why not die doing something that really mattered? Something that would save thousands of lives...

Othniel flinched as Jahaziel spoke once more. "It is well. Gather the men, and have them board the ships. Be ready by noon tomorrow to sail."

"As you have ordered, so it will be done." With a swift bow Ahserim exited. Jahaziel waited a moment, then rose as well. To Othniel's puzzlement, instead of leaving directly, he went softly to the door and listened for the space of about a minute, then opened it quickly and slid through. Othniel heard the soft whisper of his feet as he hurried down the hall, and nearly grinned as he realized the Prince was afraid of assassins. But then Othniel sobered. A world where there was no trust was like a world with no salt. Flavourless, and even at times dangerous. He had to get out.

He had to get to Narnia. To where he could be free, could belong, could..._trust_. So. The first thing would be to find passage either on a caravan or ship. A caravan was more likely - he could hire himself as a guard. Now, to get his things and bid farewell to Gaspian, and then to be off. Rising, Othniel crept softly to the door and slipped out. Now that he actually had something the guards would be...interested in, he didn't much like the thought of going back that way, so...there was the other way - the way Aravis Tarkheena had gotten out. If he hurried, he could be back, get his things, and sneak out again before he was to report for duty that even.

Forthwith, he hurried. He had just climbed into a small punt and cast off when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, and his heart sank. It was the steward. "Well," the man sneered unpleasantly, rubbing his hands together and looking uncommon pleased, "it seems you are not as loyal as you would have had me believe. And as the Poets have said, 'A man not loyal is a man not deserving of life'. Take him."

Othniel swerved, reaching for his knives, but he had just time to catch a glimpse of a dark, swarthy face and cruel eyes before something heavy came down on his head and all went black.


	3. Chapter 3

The next thing Othniel knew he was sitting in the dank hold of a ship. He tried to open his eyes and then groaned as a wave of nausea swept over him.

'What happened?' he thought fuzzily, struggling to recall, then he groaned again as the memory of last night - or whenever it was - came flooding back. Lasaraleen. Jahazial. Narnia. The steward - the sneering face. Black.

Cautiously he cracked open his eyes again. Good, not so much nausea this time. He looked around the hold to see it full of people, sitting slumped in dejected - nay, despairing attitudes. The one or two that met his eyes did so with such an attitude of weariness and blank despair that he guessed they were slaves - and had been so for so long they felt nothing that man could do to them could worsen their state. The one nearest to Othniel looked at him without a trace of interest, and when asked where he was, the man only shook his head and turned away.

A little surprised, Othniel half-shrugged, and was about to sit back and close his eyes again when he saw a face looking at him curiously. It was a girl - a girl with a pointed little face, with wide-set brown eyes that looked like they ought to be laughing, but were wide and scared. There was a bruise on one cheek. She looked on the point of crawling forward when there was a slam from above and the hatch opened. A man came down the ladder; a man with the sneering face - the one that had knocked Othniel out and was, presumably, the one responsible for his incarceration here.

The man was holding a plate of food: "Complements of the captain."

The substance he handed Othniel was something that most definitely did _not_ deserve the name of 'food'. It was a grayish paste along with a lump of mouldy dry stuff that looked like it hadn't been bread since Tash was young. Othniel looked at it without enthusiasm. "No, thank you. I'm pretty sure I just lost my appetite."

The man seemed disproportionately outraged. "You piece of impertinence! You'll take this and thank me for it before I'm finished with you!" Just then a call came from up on deck and Malkijah turned and stomped back up the hatch. The bruised, pointed face Othniel had noticed earlier crept forward again and Othniel noted with an indistinct feeling of anger that she was chained to one of the posts that rose at intervals throughout the hold.

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes full of fury, and then hissed, "You idiot!"

Othniel blinked. "Perhaps, lady, you might condescend to tell one so insignificant as I what I have done to incur your no doubt just and beneficent wrath."

She blinked in turn, looking as though she did not understand him. Then she smiled slowly. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe..." She trailed off.

Now it was Othniel's turn to blink again. "Your pardon, lady, I do not understand you."

She shook her head. "No, it is I that beg your pardon. I ought not to have snapped at you like that, but you see, that man - Malkijah - is...temperamental. It's like enough that none of the rest of us will get food today since you refused what he offered."

Othniel felt ashamed. "I am very sorry, lady, I had no idea he wouldn't feed the rest of you."

She shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. We will get by. Tash knows I've cost these others their food often enough. I'm Calae, or according to the men on this ship, 'Blasted Troublemaker'."

Othniel smiled. "And I've been granted the name 'Piece of Impertinence', though most call me Othniel. It is good to make your acquain -" he broke off as various loud thumping noises and mingled yells and curses came from above. "What is that?" he asked Calae.

"The pirates are making ready to overhaul another ship. This marks the fourth time they have challenged another ship - and they've won every time." The hatch above opened and heavy footsteps preceded Malkijah's descent into the hold. Calae hastily began scuttling away, but Malkijah saw her and sneered, (a prevailing trait, it seemed) saying to Othniel,

"I see you you've found our troublemaker. The two of you seem a well matched pair. Now, of course you know that we are due to get more slaves soon, and so to get ready for your new mates, I need your help with something. This hold is a mess, and you are going to help me clean it." So saying he brought out some manacles and, chaining Othniel to a post, slammed a bucket of water and a rag down in front of him and gave him a rough shove.

"Get busy. And if you need any help, be sure to let me know." He sneered again and reached behind his back to pull down a whip. He cracked it viciously. Othniel saw Calae jump and flinch and found himself angrily wondering whether the lash had ever been used on her. He reluctantly pulled the bucket in front of him and dropped the rag in it. Malkijah was right about one thing, the floor was filthy, although...now that he was down on it, he noticed a swath that was not as dirty as the rest. And it was by where Calae was chained.

His hands had been working subconsiously while he thought, and as always happened when he was concentrating hard, his work slowed. He jumped at the crack of a whip dangerously close to his ear. "Hurry up! You think I have all day to wait on a blasted sea turtle?"

Othniel unwillingly scrubbed faster, than grinned as he got an idea.

Some time ago in Calormen, he and Gaspian had failed to clean their helmets as well as suited the finicky Steward, and so were set the punishment of scrubbing the barrackroom floor. They had begun it as reluctantly, but one minute and a whispered conference later, they had begun to enjoy themselves. The same could not be said for the rest of the people within one hundred yards. The reason for this was an admittedly obnoxious song proceeding from the mouths belonging to the two scrubbers.

After seven minutes of the repetitive song, the Steward gave up and let them go. Othniel fully intended to duplicate this senario now.

Unwisely, he had not counted on the pirate's explosive nature. He had not gotten two bars into the song when there was a savage growl from Malkijah and a keen whip lash descended on Othniel's exposed back. He arched, a hiss of pain escaped him, but, he told himself, that was all the satisfaction he would give the brute. Said brute raised the whip for another cut, but before it could connect, a voice called down from the deck,

"Malkijah! You knows what the Captain said about whippin' the slaves! He doesn't want 'em marked up - 'specially not the new one!"

Malkijah cursed but lowered the whip. Then his glance fell on Calae. She lifted her chin and met his raking gaze stubbornly. Malkijah turned to Othniel, and an unpleasant gleam came into his eyes. "If I'm not allowed to whip you - then there's someone else I can." So saying he reached out and grabbed Calae and positioned her with her face against a post, and her arms chained around it. Othniel now saw that her dress was shredded and so was her back. Malkijah laughed sneeringly at the savage look that suddenly gleamed in Othniel's eyes as he understood what was about to happen.

The pirate raised his whip warningly and threatened, "Now, unless you step up your pace, this blasted troublemaker will feel the bite of this." And he cracked the whip again. Othniel dropped back to his knees, scrubbing and muttering imprecations with equal vigour. He was scubbing as hard and fast as he could, but he could sense the man behind him growing restless and irritable at having nothing to complain of. Then he heard another swish and a crack, and heard a sharp intake of breath come from the girl behind him.

Now Othniel was really furious, both at himself and the man, for should he not have learned from his first encounter with Malkijah not to aggravate him?

As one of the poets said, 'A cool head and heart in the midst of trouble is like-' but his attempt to remain calm was interrupted as another swish and crack came, followed by a hiss of pain from Calae and he seethed again. He had no idea what to do except keep scrubbing as hard and fast as he could. There seemed to be nothing else _to_ do. The next five minutes were agony for Othniel and he wondered miserably what they must be like for the girl on the business end of the lash.

Gods be thanked, after five minutes of the torment a call came from up the hatch for all hands on deck. Malkijah cursed, cracking the whip savagely and whacking Othniel hard across the head with the butt of it before he obeyed the summons.

As soon as he was gone, Othniel dropped the rag and hurried to Calae. She turned towards him with a twisted smile. He gently tried to help her sit, but to his surprise she waved him off.

"Thank you, Othniel, but I am quite all right."

Mouth dropping in unconcealed shock, he stared at her and she grinned. "I have gotten far worse. Though I would appreciate it greatly if you would hand me that rag."

"But, lady," he protested, "it is very dirty, and besides, the water is salt."

"Most of the times I have not gotten to wash the cuts at all, and-" her mouth twisted again into that wry, almost amused grin, "-I have always heard that salt water is good for wounds."

Othniel handed the rag to Calae somewhat reluctantly and she reached around her shoulder and tried to start sponging the cuts. She stopped with an exclamation of pain. Othniel, who had turned his back as she pulled down from her shoulder what was left of her dress, turned his head slightly and saw that the chains attached to her wrist prevented her from reaching the cuts. Calae turned toward him and with a rueful smile said, "Othniel, I am so sorry to trouble you, but would you mind helping me? Malkijah usually unchains me from the post at least, but this time I suppose he was a little too upset to do so this time."

Othniel shifted so he was as close to her as his chain would allow, and gingerly began to clean the first cut. He stopped almost as soon as he started and said, reproachfully, "Lady, how can you be so - so - _flippant_ about these cuts? I have seen many lashes, but rarely have I seen ones as deep as this!"

Calae merely motioned for him to continue, her teeth set and face strained.

After the cuts - eleven in all - were cleansed (such as the cleansing was), Calae informed Othniel that the fight could very well go on for hours, and they might as well get some sleep in the mean time. As they settled down to rest, one on each side of the post Calae was chained to, Othniel wondered if Calae would take it amiss if he gave her his tunic for a pillow. He gave a mental shrug, she could only get mad at him, although - and he grinned at the recollection - she could be quite formidable if she was roused, but he decided that he would brave the possible storm. He slipped out of his outer tunic and, a little sheepishly, made to hand it to Calae. She started as it touched her arm, then looked at him with curiosity in her face.

"I thought you might need a little something more than just that dress..." He trailed off as he gestured to her tattered garment. She took it with an odd expression on her face. "Thank you."

Othniel shrugged uncomfortably. "It's nothing. I'm sorry - it was my fault you were whipped."

Birdlike, she put her head on one side and looked to be considering. Then she said, "Yes, I suppose it was, wasn't it? Very well, I forgive you."

Then she turned and, snuggling underneath the tunic, she went to sleep. Othniel looked at her with a bemused expression, then half-shrugged and leaned his own head against the post, hearing the sounds of the other slaves all around the hold doing the same. It would seem then that this was a regular occurrence. Well, it wouldn't be for much longer - not if he could help it. He fell asleep thinking up schemes for overthrowing the slave traders, each one more outrageous than the last.

It must have been at least an hour later Othniel woke from his dozing with a start. Feet were sounding in the hatchway, and all the slaves in the hold tensed, looking at one another anxiously. Then a small blonde head appeared around the corner and there was a collective gasp from around the hold.

"What is it?" Othniel whispered to Calae.

She whispered back, "That's not one of the men from this ship! The pirates have lost - and now whose slaves will we be?"


	4. Chapter 4

Othniel's mind was racing as the small figure continued down the steps. His blond head meant he was from some northern country, ergo, this lad, (for he was not more than thirteen) must be either a slave on some southern ship or he belonged to a northern ship. If he was from a Narnian, or even an Archenlandish ship, Othniel's mission was half over. All he would need to do would be convince the Captain that his story was true, get to the main city of Narnia as fast as they could, and his task would be over.

Determined to discover which of these two scenarios were correct, he pulled himself forward as close to the boy as his chains would permit and was about to touch him on the arm to get his attention when the lad, looking a trifle nervous, began to speak.

"Good friends, I - I beg your attention for a moment.Captain wishes me to tell you your ship's been taken over (and a jolly good thing, too!) by the Narnian ship _Karabos, _and that he is headed to Narnia just now, and he will give you each two lions* to make your way with, whether you should wish to stay in Narnia or go back to your homes, and - that's all. Give you good day." The lad ended a bit awkwardly, looking around at all the slaves, many of whom had not even stirred at this news. He hesitated, then began backing towards the stairs, looking highly uncomfortable.

Othniel, who had been watching the effect his words had on Calae, saw in her face the surprise and wonder his news brought overshadowed by the pain of her wounds and determined to attempt to get a physician. Hitching himself forward awkwardly, he touched the lad on the arm. "Worshipful Youth, I beg you to incline your ear to my altogether unworthy voice and answer my humble and desperate petition, that being, prithee procure a healer, for this lady is in dire need of assistance." As he finished, he realized, belatedly, that the boy had understood none of what he had said - and no wonder, for he had been speaking as the Tarkaans of the south, whom the boy had undoubtedly never heard.

Throwing Othniel an exasperated look, Calae explained, "He means, lad, that he would be very grateful if you could get a healer to come down and attend to those of us that are injured."

The boy turned to look at the speaker and stopped short. "My lady - I - I -" he seemed unable to say more, and almost shaking, turned and ran up the ladder.

Calae looked after him. "I wonder if it was your formality or my cuts that scared him off?"

Othniel shrugged and with a wry smile suggested, "Belike a combination of both. I do hope he brings a surgeon, though. I'm afraid your injuries might get infected if they are not attended to."

"And yours, of course."

Othniel frankly stared. "Calae, you have _layers_ of scourging, and you are sorry about me getting _one_ superficial cut?"

Calae lifted her chin and stared right back.

"It is deeper than the ones I got because he was even madder at you than at me. Therefore, it is not at all the wrong thing for me to be worried about it."

They might have gone on for a while, but just then the footsteps of the boy sounded again, along with an odd sort of clopping noise that sounded almost like a horse.

The boy came round the corner, followed by what could only be a Faun. Othniel vaguely heard murmurs of astonishment from all about him, and dimly saw people making the sign of Zalmethea, Goddess of Health and Safety, but his own mind was only processing the wondering thought that his mother had been telling the truth about such things.

Othniel's thoughts, still wandering, did not register the youth bring the Faun over towards Othniel and Calae, but then his wonderment came to an abrupt end as Calae elbowed him in the side.

"What? Eh?" Was all his mind could summon. Then as Calae nudged him again, he cleared his throat and his thoughts simultaneously and said to the boy, this time in more recognizable dialect, "Lad, am I right in thinking this to be your healer?"

The lad nodded, looking relieved at being able to understand him. "Yes sir. This is Master Onnas, and I'm Darion."

"A pleasure, I'm sure. My name is Othniel, and this is Calae. I regret I cannot make you acquainted with the names of these others, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting them."

"Come, come," the Faun interrupted. "Let me have a look at all of you. I am sure many of your wounds have become purulent and will need attention."

It took some time for all the slaves to settle down sufficiently for Master Onnas to look at them, but when they (grudgingly, for the most part), formed a sort of line, it was apparent that what wounds they had were superficial, and that Calae had taken most of the beatings.

As the slaves gradually drifted back to their original positions, Master Onnas motioned Calae to follow him up the hatch, explaining, "I want you to come to my surgical room; I fear some of your cuts may have become infected. Here are the keys to your manacles - the Captain found them on the belt of that _most_ unpleasant pirate."

Othniel swiftly unlocked his own chains, then carefully undid Calae's. She gave him a grateful smile and rose, steadying herself against the post. "I'll come at once, Master Onnas."

But as she placed her foot on the first step, her face went salt white and she began to fall. Othniel, moving faster than he ever had for guard training, caught her before she hit the deck. She had fainted, the combined pain and shock too much for her. The physic tsk'ed, checking her pulse. "Bring her quickly - I fear her wounds are heavily festered, but we will try and help her."

Following the boy and Faun up the stairs, Othniel abruptly remembered why he was on the ship in the first place. He quickened his pace and caught up with Master Onnas.

"Master Onnas, how long would it take for a fleet of Calormen galleys to get from Tashbaan to Cair Paravel?"

*Narnian currency


	5. Chapter 5

Master Onnas turned and looked at Othniel.

"A Calormene ship, you say? About a week, I should think, although you should really ask the Captain to be sure." Othniel nodded in relief. That took care of the immediate problem.

They continued off the pirates ship and onto another, nicer looking one. Othniel was concentrating on not tripping over anything or dropping the unconscious girl in his arms, and therefore got only a vague impression of colour and cleanliness before he found himself ducking to avoid hitting his head on the low doorway.

He was in a fairly long, low room, with two tables in the middle and a heavy canvas cloth between them, so as to form two separate rooms. Buckets and shelves lined all the available wall space on either side.

Master Onnas gestured for Othniel to place Calae on one of the tables, and then motioned for Othniel to go around to the other side of the cloth. Othniel waited for a few minutes, and then heard an "all done". He cautiously looked around the cloth to see Calae still unconscious, but clad in a spotless white shift.

Master Onnas looked up at Othniel and smiled.

"I've washed her cuts and put some ointment on them, she ought to be fine with some rest and-" He broke off as Calae woke up with a gasp. The Faun nodded and said with satisfaction,

"Ah, good. I was thinking you should probably be waking up soon. There appears to be some infection, but this balm should get it out in no time at all. It is my own brew, you know. And now," turning to Othniel, "Why did you want to know about the fleet of galleys? Unless you have some good reason you should not tell us." Master Onnas ended, as a thoughtful and somewhat wary look crossed Othniel's face, then he shook his head.

"You are a Narnian, and I do not think Lady Calae here will say anything that would compromise me. I will tell you." And so Othniel told them of the plot he had discovered, and the consecutive events. After Othniel had finished, Master Onnas exclaimed,

"Villians! Scourges! This is worse than Rabadash! They are blatantly ignoring all rules of chivalry and honour, besides showing a very prejudiced and incorrect ignorance of Narnia. We must tell the Captain as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he cannot see anyone for at least an hour, so as soon as possible may not be as soon as we would wish."

"But surely, sir, if he knew the danger he would not hesitate one instant!"

"Of course not, but you see, he is busy right now directing the care of your fellows, in addition to all the usual work a captain must do. Furthermore, we are headed to Narnia now, therefore, although it would no doubt be the wisest course to inform him of this purported invasion, it would not do anything to hasten our way. Yes, Lady Calae, what may I do for you?" For Calae was attempting to roll over and tugging on the Healer's tunic at the same time.

"First of all, I wish you would stop all this 'Lady Calae' nonsense. I am the daughter of a village weaver, and no lady. Second, I think you had best have a look at Othniel's back, Master Onnas, he got a deep lash as well as I." And she shot a triumphant look at Othniel's now-dismayed face.

Othniel nodded, albeit reluctantly, and lay down on the table next to Calae's. As Master Onnas leaned over him and began tearing and cutting the tunic away from the cut, he shot Calae a look and said with deliberate politeness,

"Lady Calae, I trust I may have opportunity to repay your solicitous care of my undeserving self before long." Calae widened her eyes in affected innocence.

"Why, good Sir, I merely was attempting to repay the kindness already shown to this poor and mean maiden by your Gracious self." At the simultaneous eye roll that followed, the two humans both burst out laughing.

Othniel's laughter was cut short with a hiss of pain as Master Onnas applied some of his 'balm' to the cut on his back. Calae was instantly sympathetic.

"Oh, Othniel, I am sorry. That stuff does hurt like anything." Othniel nodded and then said,

"While we are just lying here, perhaps you could tell us how you happened to be on such a vile ship as that pirate's." Calae assented and began.

"I am the daughter of the best weaver on the Island of Drel, and mayhap anywhere else. My father often required our help with various and sundry aspects of the work, but it was my oldest brother Edrian's help he required most. Of course, none of the rest of us thought this anything unusual, for on our island it is the custom for the oldest son to continue in his father's trade. Edrian, however, was not well pleased with this custom. He resented the constriction it placed on him, for though my younger brothers could choose their own occupation, he was forced to conform. Edrian even went so far as to declare that if the trade was ever forced on him, he would run away and take a berth on a ship. Knowing the excitable nature of young men, my father took no notice of this, seeing it as a whim of youth, and continued to teach him the weavers' trade.

When Edrian turned eighteen, which is coming of age on Drel, Father took him to the town well, where all business on our island is conducted to sign the papers that would bind him to the weavers trade.

When they got to town - which is right next to the sea - Edrian, who had been strangely quiet until now, asked Father if he could go tell his friends of his good fortune. Father, missing the thickness that must have been in Edrian's voice, agreed happily, thinking my brother must be coming 'round.

Father in the meantime went and found several friends to act as witnesses, and they waited for nigh two hours. Edrian never came.

Father was frantic with worry and paid a couple of boys hanging about to see if they could find him. They could not.

Now Father recalled what Edrian had said about going to sea, and hurried to the docks. He asked all the sailors if they had seen aught of his son, but with no result.

At length a rather scruffy looking lad came up and inquired if he were Darmenas, ''de fahder o' a chap called Edrian''. Father assented, and the lad handed him a paper and ran off. My father opened the note and quickly glanced down at the signature. It was from my brother.

"Dear Father,

By the time you get this, I will be at sea already. The captain of my ship seems a decent fellow, and has agreed to take me on as a sort of cabin boy until I can learn the ropes. I think aside from missing all of you, I will be very happy. Give everyone my love, Mum especially, and tell her not to worry.

Love, Edrian"

Father was greatly shaken, as were the rest of us when he got home and we read the letter. We all were in a sort of daze for a while, but then my Mum decided that enough was enough, and set us all to work again. They say the Father is the head of the home, but I say that if that is so, the Mother is the neck, and the neck turns the head.

I, for I am the second oldest, naturally fell into the role my brother had filled. It was one of my jobs to take the completed cloth to the docks where the merchants would have sailors load it onto the ships.

It became my habit, in the year and a half after Edrian left, to meet and ask every ship that came in if they had seen my brother in their travels.

I had no luck until one day, just as I was turning away in disappointment from another unsuccessful inquiry, an ill-groomed fellow caught my eye.

The general air of insolence and disrepute that hung about him ought to have warned me away from him, but as I was about to pass him he said,

"Did I hear you was lookin' fer news o' ol' Edrian?"

Hearing Edrian spoken of so familiarly gave me hope, and I stopped and eagerly enquired if he knew of him. He winked at me and told me "he and ol' Ed were best mates"

I avidly began pressing him for news. He told me he could do better than that and said if I came to his ship, I could see my brother. Of course, I agreed. That was probably ranked at least second on my list of 'Most Idiotic Things to Do', but I followed him anyway and we soon came to a rather bedraggled looking ship.

I began to have second thoughts about this, but just as I was turning to leave the man who had brought me to the ship gave a short whistle and I found myself surrounded. Now I was panicking, but there was only a short time for me to panic, for in a minute there was a blow to the back of my head and I woke up to find myself in the charming abode with all the other equally charming occupants.

At first I was treated as valuable piece of merchandise, but as I take it, Malkijah got bored at having no 'amusement' as he called it, and bugged the captain so much that at last the captain gave him leave to whip me until I cried.

Well, I _wouldn't_ cry, you know, it being a point of honour with me, and Malkijah _would_ have me cry, so frankly, I think they thought it was their duty to beat me.

This also undermined all their ill-conceived notions about girls, and so then they stopped caring about my price, and the crew took turns trying to make me cry.

Of course, they did not succeed, for I never cry - at least not in front of villains.

And so that is how I came to be on this ship. Perhaps a bit more involved than you wanted, but you see, it really was quite involved."

As Calae finished, there was a scuffling noise and Darion dropped down into the hold.

"Master Onnas, the Captain wants to see you as soon as may be. He said he wants you to bring these two as well."

"Very well, you young scamp. I'll be up shortly. Run along now. Honestly," he continued to the two humans, "I sometimes feel that if it were not for my promise to his mother, I would have taken drastic action ages ago. He is forever bursting in here and disturbing my concentration. Well, all that aside, we had better go see the captain. Othniel, if you would, help Calae up to the deck."


	6. Chapter 6

As Othniel moved to comply with Master Onnas, he heard a stifled gasp from Calae. Turning, he saw her press a hand to her side. Instantly the surgeon was at her side.

"Calae, do you feel as if knives were stabbing you in the side? Does this hurt?" - Gently pressing her abdomen — "Yes? How about this? Oh dear."

Master Onnas turned worriedly to Othniel.

"I'm afraid she may have internal injuries. I'll need to make a more thorough examination, so why don't you go find Darion and ask him to show you over the ship. I'm sure he would be more than delighted."

Othniel reluctantly acquiesced, and on finding Darion was given an enthusiastic showing over the ship. Othniel wasn't very attentive, for his attention wandered between marveling at the assortment of Animals and Strange Creatures on the ship, and worrying about Calae.

With a start he dragged his attention back to Darion to hear him say,

"...So, Mother finally said yes, on the condition that Master Onnas continue my schooling, so even though I wish I could become a ship's Master like Captain Tartian, I will most likely have to be a librarian like Master Onnas used to be, or something boring like that."

Then suddenly Darion's demeanor changed and Othniel, glancing at his companion, saw him looking down respectfully as he said,

"Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Othniel, this is Captain Tartian, the commander of this ship. Captain, this is Othniel, the one you wanted to see."

But Othniel was staring at the Captain in shock. The Captain stared coolly back.

"I see no one informed you yet that it is rude to stare."

Othniel gasped, much as if he had just had a cold bucket of water dumped over him.

"Or that gaping is not at all attractive to Humans or Cats."

Othniel now recovered a trace of his equilibrium, and shutting his mouth and bowing with as much grace as he could manage said,

"Sir, I regret if my uncouth behaviour has offended you. I fear I am not yet accustomed to Narnians and their wondrous diversity. I was under the assumption that the captain would be human. Please accept my humble apologies."

Captain Tartian surveyed him with a cattish look, which made Othniel think of the famous maxim that said, "Dogs look up to you, cats look down on you, and pigs treat you as equals." He had often seen that this seemed true in his experience with the stray animals in Tashbaan, and this impression was magnified fourfold in the face of this enormous Cat who was also the Captain of a Narnian ship.

Then the Captain bowed a feline bow and graciously said,

"Apology accepted. Now, I heard you have grave news you must get to Narnia as soon as possible. We are already headed there now, but I will order more sail put on, and - Now what are you gaping at?"

"Sir, how did you know about that? I have not told any save Master Onnas and Ca - one other."

The huge Cat smiled again — rather disconcerting Othniel found that, as his teeth were pointed and _very_ sharp — and replied,

"On my ship I have many ears in many places. You humans do not pay much attention to animals, and so some of my crew overheard your talk in the surgery. Now, about your news, you may be sure that no one who ought not to know about it will not. When we get to Narnia, you must go and tell their Majesties at once.

"I am sure Master Onnas would be glad to accompany you to court, and show you what you ought to do. He is very fond of telling others how they ought to behave, and can get rather flustered if they do not comply. I will arrange to have the captives bedded down in the surgery, so they needn't stay on that excuse for a ship any longer. I'll have my cook prepare some food, and now I think that will be all. Good day."

And with that rather abrupt farewell, the Captain turned away, leaving Othniel standing beside the — strangely — silent Darion, not _gaping_, but _gazing_ in surprised silence.

Darion, rousing from his state of noiselessness, drew Othniel's attention to (what looked like to him) a tangle of ropes, and proudly informed him that he knew the names of all - "Well, _almost_ all" of them. The lad began telling, in a most important manner, the names of the ropes. Judging by the barely controlled amusement on the face of the sailor who was scouring the deck nearby, Othniel surmised it would most likely not be wise to depend too much on the accuracy of the information Darion was so kindly sharing with him.

In the middle of the mixed up lecture, Othniel heard a slight cough. Turning, he saw Calae, supported by Master Onnas. The Faun smiled and said,

"She has no internal injuries. I found out upon _extensive_ inquiries that she has not eaten for some days, which would account for the faintness and the pain in the abdominal region. I had the cook make her some food, and I believe- "

"Oh Othniel!" Calae broke in, "Only think! The cook is a Marshwiggle!" Othniel opened his mouth to inquire as to what a _Mar-shwiggle_ might be, but Calae hurried on. "He came to see how I liked the food, (it was soup and some ship's crackers, and it was Delicious!) and I heard him before I saw him, he was talking to Master Onnas, and he sounded _so_ doleful I peeked around the curtain to see what he looked like."

"And?" interjected Othniel as Calae paused for breath,

"Why, he's got long legs, and long arms, and his face is rather muddy looking, and he is so gloomy, you can't imagine! Master Onnas introduced us, and his name is Dolemarsh He said I should most likely hate the soup, on account of it having things in it Marshwiggles like, and it was sure to give me indigestion, and even if I did like it, and it did not give me indigestion, it would ruin my taste for non - Marshwiggle food. When he saw I paid all these doleful warnings no mind he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation, and although he is such a pessimist he would be a match for even our village soothsayer, he told me some very interesting things. For instance, did you know that King Edmund loves Marshwiggle food more than any other kind? And Queen Susan uses heather that the Marshwiggles gather for all the beds in Cair Paravel? Dolemarsh told me ever so many other things like General Oreius had - Oh!"

And as Othniel turned to see what had caused Calae to break off, he saw the sailor that had been scrubbing the deck earlier standing, rag in hand, staring at Calae in open-mouthed astonishment. Then there was a faint swishing sound and he turned just in time to catch Calae as she fell over in a dead faint.

Othniel wondered briefly if this was going to become a regular occurrence (and reflected that he mightn't mind so much if it did), before gently supporting her head on her lap as Master Onnas worriedly fussed over her.

"Please, Master Onnas, will she be alright?" Othniel looked up, the speaker was the sailor he had seen earlier. He was looking in astonishment and worry at Calae. Othniel wondered who in the name of Tash this was, then had his question answered as Master Onnas replied,

"Yes, Edrian, she merely fainted from lack of sleep and also from excitement."

Suddenly Othniel's brain caught up with the conversation. Jerking his head up he said,

"Why, you must be her brother!" The younger lad nodded miserably.

"Yes, I'm Edrian. How'd you know who I was?" Othniel was about to reply when Master Onnas said impatiently,

"Might we save all these pleasantries for later? This lady needs to sleep. Othniel, if you would..." Othniel nodded and stood up, cradling Calae gently. He subconsciously noted that she seemed much too light before querying,

"Where should I put her, sir?" Master Onnas turned to the Captain, who was somehow there without Othniel noticing him approach, and sent him an enquiring look. The Cat nodded.

"By all means, put her in my cabin. The rest of the slaves are already in your surgery." Ignoring the worried look that instantly came into Master Onnas' face at the thought of all his precious pill boxes and bottles being touched, the Captain turned to Othniel.

"Carry on, lad. Edrian, you show him the way." Othniel ducked his head and followed the other boy. Putting Calae down gently on the Captain's bed, he saw her brother still standing in the doorway.

"Edrian, I'm going to go see about my bed. Can you watch her?" Othniel saw the boy nod, and move in to sit next to the bed. He smiled to himself and quietly left.


	7. Chapter 7

Othniel found a bed next to an old man who cringed at any sudden movement. He attempted to talk to him, but the man shook his head apprehensively and looked around cautiously for anyone that might overhear before whispering fearfully,

"You ma na' talk! They dinna lak me ta talk!"

"But They aren't here!" Othniel said gently, "They cannot harm you here, my friend. The Narnians are taking care of us. What island be you from?"

The man did not relax, but still in a whisper answered, "Tha canna trust them! Dinna tell them anything!"

"Sir, the Narnians are our friends. They will not touch you if you do not wish it. What is your name?"

He shook his head. "I havna a name."

Othniel flinched. He knew slavery, of course, he'd seen it every day, and even helped capture a runaway slave, but all the slaves he had talked to had at least had names, albeit not their original ones. Stripping a person of their name took away their dignity, their identity. Othniel gently placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Why not give yourself a new name?"

The man only shook his head listlessly. "I canna think of any."

"Then may I?" Othniel asked. At the man's nod he said, "Then I will give you, with your sanction, the name Aehsa. It means 'New Life'."

Aehsa looked in Othniel's face and said wonderingly, "I have a name." Then at Othniel's nod he cried joyfully, "I have a name! Aslan be praised! They can do nae mair!" And words poured out of him.

"Befair me capture I lived on Sennach. Twas a small island, na mair than a pile o' rocks, but I were happy there alone. I dinna have a wife, and no bairns, but I had me boat and me books, and I were satisfied wi' it, till one day a storm came and carried me and me boat out to th' sea.

I were washed up on th' Calormen shore, and I woke up to dark men standin' round. Shure and I thought I were in Tash's country, but then one o' th' men bending ovar me made me get up and go in front a him. He'd a big whip, and when I dinna go fast enough for him he'd give me a taste o' it. Then we got to his house-though i' faith twas mair lak a palace-an' just to let me know what I were in foir he give me a beating that left me senseless. Tha art Calormene, tha doubtless got them. I got th' job o' muck-man. What'er were dairty and digusting I'd do. They nair called me by me name, twas alway 'boy'. I were there twenty-foive years. The only thing I remembered by th' end was Aslan."

"Sir, thy story is all too similar to many I have heard. I fear me I'll hear more of them before the end. Aslan give thee grace, as He no doubt has already."

Othniel looked up, he'd not seen Master Onnas come. Aehsa started a little, but the expression on his face was as dissimilar to the one on't a half and hour ago as could be. He stood up and beamed at the Faun.

"Good Sir, tha i' faith speak true. He was wi' me thru't all. But enou' of me. Can tha tell me how it is at th' Cair?"

Master Onnas smiled and led the man over to a couple of chairs. Othniel, for the second time in an hour, smiled and slipped out quietly. He wandered aimlessly, guiltily avoiding Darion when he came in sight. Othniel had much to think about, and did not feel that he could bear the lad's chatter.

Othniel looked up from his ruminating and found to his surprise that the sun had set. He sighed as he realized he would have to go back in the dark hold. He decided, partly out of a desire to stretch the time until he must go to bed, to check on Calae and see if she was awake and well before he did go down to the hold. It was late, but he did not think Edrian would mind.

He went to the door of the cabin and lifted his hand to knock, then hesitated. He saw through the small, round window Calae sitting up, and Edrian sitting on her bed, talking. Othniel thought perhaps he had better come back in the morning after all, and was just turning away when Calae glimpsed him. She smiled and beckoned him to come in.

Rather shyly now he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Othniel! We were just speaking of you! I just finished telling Edrian what a comfort you were to me after weeks of no companionship. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever hear a laugh again, or a voice that was not angry."

"Oh, but Master Edrian, I do assure you it was entirely the other way around!" Othniel exclaimed eagerly, "I had no idea what was happening around me until your sister told me. She knew what was going on, and was so much braver and stronger than I could ever have been in her place."

"Edrian, do not believe him, he is only saying that because-"

"Enough!" Edrian cried, and when the two subsided he continued, "Suppose you call it quits? If you don't you will go on until it becomes a point of contention!"

Calae and Othniel grinned sheepishly at each other, then both looked at Edrian as he addressed Othniel,

"I am curious, sir, as to the way you speak. I have met several Calormenes in my time-Calae, stop snickering-, and Calae says you come from there, but you have a most divers accent. I can hear very little of the customary Calormene style in your speech, it seems indeed rather...Narnian, even, but you claim only a very imperfect knowledge of that country. You could clear up this mystery for me, perhaps?"

Othniel cleared his throat in some embarrassment and said, "Well sir, my mother was from an island near Narnia, a very small one, and my father was a Calormene. Hence I grew up hearing two different accents.

I learned as I grew older that it was wiser to speak with a Calormene accent when with that people, for all of them - even the children - have an inherent dislike of foreigners, and despite my dark skin when I talked the way my mother did they immediately classified me as a barbarian from the north, and I was pelted with mud and worse, so of course you understand why I would speak as my father did.

I might have dropped the other altogether if it were not my mother's custom to tell me stories of her country at night, and of course that became very special to me, so I would use her accent whenever I was with those I loved best." Then Othniel realized he had be using that accent reserved for "those he loved best" ever since he met Calae, and stopped a little abruptly.

Edrian didn't notice, but was frowning thoughtfully. "So you can switch back and forth, passing for a Calormene or Narnian?"

"Well," Othniel said a little apologetically, "I don't know if I could pass for a Narnian, for I've never been there, but - Oh, I am keeping you from talking, and I am sure you both wanted to get to bed early after your full day. I do apologize." And he would not stay a minute longer.

The next morning Master Onnas found Othniel and sat him down for a long dissertation on Narnia and all the inhabitants thereof. Othniel, after and hour and a half, was beginning to wish anyone, even Darion, would interupt, but there being no one at hand, he must needs do it himself. So right in the middle of Master Onnas', "So, Othniel, you must Always, Always remember that all the Talking Inhabitants of Narnia are free Citizens, and Therefore-"

"Master Onnas," Othniel interrupted gently, "Not to be rude, but you have told me that very same thing at least four times in the course of our -erhm- discussion. I do not plan on forgetting it."

"You think so now, my lad, but it is so easy to forget. I make such a point of it especially on account of you being a Calormene, you see, not anything against you in particular, but Calormenes to tend to forget these things the most. They stare, point, and ignore any courtiers that are not human as much as they can. They think us barbarians, you know. Even our Kings and Queens!" He ended, with distain in his own voice.

Before Master Onnas could embark on another tirade against Calormene discrimination, a call went up for all to come on deck. Othniel ran to the rail, where he was soon joined by Calae. They leant against the rail, gazing at the fast approaching shore.

"Nervous?" inquired Calae, sending Othniel a sideways glance.

"Quite a bit." He admitted, running his hand through his hair. "Even despite Master Onnas' excellent coaching and reassurances, I cannot keep from thinking of a guard I once knew who had overheard a plot against a powerful Tarkaan. He was called in for 'questioning'. He was willing to tell all he knew, but he was tortured to be sure that he was holding nothing back. He died in the middle of the torture." Othniel smiled a little twistedly. "But enough. On a happier note, you must have been overjoyed to find your brother here after so many months of waiting and watching."

Calae nodded slowly. "Yes. We had a long talk last night, he told me of his first voyage and how much he has missed us, but he has changed. Not in a bad way," She hastened to add, "He is more confident, and-and-mature, I suppose. He no longer seems the same as the upset, slightly childish boy who left. He has grown. Father will be so pleased. Do you know, I always used to feel as if I was the elder, but now, he knows how to take leadership and guide. Oh, look!"

This last because the _Karabos_ was now drawing close to the dock, and on the dock and shore there were all sorts of brightly dressed people (if indeed one could call such a diverse assortment of Creatures people) moving about, some helping moor ships, some helping cast off, and others merely milling around, talking, laughing, and looking at all the things for sale at the shoreside marketplace.

Othniel wondered morbidly if it would still be here in a day or so, and all his doubts, fears and dreads came rushing back on him, magnified four-fold. He gripped the rail hard, and his jaw tightened. Calae noticed, and said with a teasing smile,

"What? Still worried? And after all the good advise Master Onnas gave you? Tut, tut. I'm sure if you were to go find him, he would be happy to give you some-" She broke off. "Oh. You really are nervous about this, aren't you?." Othniel, still looking at the land ahead, replied, "Yes. It is not so much meeting the Kings and Queens that I am dreading. Calae, you have never seen the Tisroc's armies. They are an organized _exterminat____makhana, _a killing machine. I dread to think of all this-" He waved a hand at the cheerful scene in front of them, "being gone, destroyed, slaughtered. These men are not content with killing. They are bred to wantonly destroy and mutilate those they attack. They show no mercy. In truth, they dare not. To show mercy would be to show weakness, and any sign of weakness is eliminated by their comrades in a matter of minutes."

Calae's face had gotten graver and graver during this speech, and there was no teasing in her voice as she spoke. "Well then. I suppose we had better get the news to the Four as soon as possible." And as the boat docked, two faces looked toward the shore with identical expressions of grim determination.


	8. Chapter 8

Anything you recognize belongs not to me but to C.S. Lewis or the amazing Elecktrum.

In Which We Meet the Kings and Queens.

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As soon as the boat docked, Master Onnas, Othniel and Calae headed for the Cair. Darion was not at all happy about being left behind, but Master Onnas had insisted firmly that the boy go visit his mother.

As they passed through the massive gates into the courtyard, Othniel and Calae were awed by the splendour of the sight in front of them. It was the most magnificent thing Calae had ever seen, and while Othniel had seen some of the Tisroc's finest palaces, Cair Paravel somehow took his breath away like none of the others had.

He thought it might have something to do with the fact that the Cair was so much more vibrant. Alive; almost as if the stones themselves might at any moment cry out.

Master Onnas, who had seen it many times before, was trying to hurry them along, and Othniel, remembering the urgency of his mission, allowed himself to be torn away from the courtyard, through the massive, elaborately carved doors, and into the great hall. Master Onnas took them into a corner and hissed "Wait here," then made his way through the crowd to a table where a Fox was sitting. He was larger than normal foxes, and even bigger than the desert foxes Othniel was accustomed to seeing.

Othniel watched the Fox's manner go from pleased at the sight of Master Onnas to alarmed as Onnas told him of the nature of his visit. The Fox nodded several times, then jumped down off the table and hurried to one of the Thrones.

The dark-haired king on it leaned down to hear the Fox, and Othniel saw an look of outrage cross his face before his expression smoothed back into one of diplomatic pleasantness. He leaned over to the golden-haired king and whispered something to him.

A look of puzzlement crossed his features, but he nodded and standing up, said to the assembled people,

"We regret, Good Cousins, that We must adjourn this session due to unforeseen events. We will see you on the morrow."

As he was saying this, Master Onnas was hurrying Othniel and Calae out of the Great Hall, and into a small anteroom behind it.

"Now," he said, "I have spoken with Sir Giles Fox, and he had arranged for a private audience with the Four here, so Othniel, remember-" he was cut off by the entrance of the Monarchs themselves.

Calae and Othniel exchanged one look, and then fell flat on their faces before the Kings and Queens. Othniel could hear Master Onnas' disapproving tisk-ing in the background, for Othniel was disregarding with vengeance all the his instruction on Correctly greeting Narnian Potentates, but Othniel scarcely heard him.

It had come over him as soon as the rulers came into the room that these were true Sovereigns, and much more worthy of worship, not to mention honour than any Tisroc in Calormen history. He could tell Calae felt the same.

The youngest queen stepped forward quickly and lifted Calae up from the ground, saying merrily as she did so, "You needn't stay with your face on the floor, my dear. We don't insist on you memorizing the pattern of the carpet, unlike some of the Calormene courts."

The dark-haired king had been simultaneously raising Othniel, and both the former slaves stood up, a bit awkwardly.

Master Onnas was saying agitatedly, "Your Majesties, I am so sorry, I did instruct them in Narnian customs, but they seem to have-"

The queen with the long black hair and lovely countenance interrupted him gently but firmly. "Master Onnas, I make no doubt you did well, but did this young man not have something of great import to tell us?"

Othniel, reminded of the urgency of his mission, stepped forward and said, "O gracious Queen, whose beauty is as the stars, know that I, your humble servant, am possessed of a great secret, which, if not revealed, could utterly despoil Narnia, therefor, it is my duty and-"

"Hold." A voice broke in. It was the dark-haired king, the one to whom the Fox had first spoken. "Sir, I fail to see why it is your duty to tell us this danger. Are you not a Calormene? Is your allegiance not to them? How if this is all a trick, a base scheme to harm Narnia?"

Calae answered before Othniel could. "Your Majesty, I have heard some Calormene story telling, and they always do say things like that, in that elaborate manner. I think Othniel was trying to be correct and tell his news in the best way he knew."

King Edmund (for so it was) had listened gravely to this explanation, and then turned to Othniel. "Is she correct? Have you anything to add to her elucidation?"

The addressed blinked once and then nodded. "Yes, Sire, she is correct. I suppose I should stop trying to keep to formalities. It has only gotten me into trouble."

"Perhaps, then, you would be so kind as to cease formalities and tell us exactly the danger that threatens Our land, and do it quickly."

Othniel's eyes widened. The one who had spoken was the golden headed king, and Othniel could tell by his tightly controlled voice that he was very angry. He could also see why this man was more feared in battle than most any other. Othniel swallowed rather hard (it is, after all, not every day one meets an almost legendary figure) and began somewhat hurriedly,

"Majesties all, it happened not even a week ago that my mistress found it advisable to send me on an errand to an acquaintance of hers that lived in the Old Palace. Now, it pleased the gods that on the way back from her apartments, I went near a certain room that I had passed eight years before, on another errand, and had seen strange things there. As I was passing this room now, an odd, but irresistible urge came over me, and I went into the room. I do not know why, but as I went inside this place, the thought came into my head that I might hear something of import to Narnia. There was, however, no one in the room, and so I turned to leave. But just as I did so, I heard voices in the passage outside. Not wanting to be found where I had no business to be, I concealed myself.

"A moment later, the Tisroc's (may he live forever), second son came into the room with his chief counselor. They had apparently been finalizing their plans, and I heard the summary. These plans included destroying Narnia and enslaving the remains of it and Archenland. These machinations also included a dastardly plan to enslave their gracious majesties the queens."

As soon as Othniel finished there was shocked silence for a moment before the older king said, "Curse those knavery Calormenes!"

"Peter!" The youngest queen exclaimed, "shame! And in front of guests."

"Sister," returned the king, "It was ill done of me, and I ask your pardons all, but the insolence of those-"

This time it was the younger king that interrupted him. "My brother, do not forget that we owe our knowledge of this invasion to one of 'those', and temper our words accordingly."

The High King Peter nodded curtly and said "Thanks, Edmund. Your advice is highly valued, but now," turning to Othniel, "how much can you tell us about the number of men? How soon will they be here?"

"Sire, I would I could tell you more, but I only heard them say a large army. Your Majesties would know better than I what a prince would deem a large army. As to the time, I believe he meant to start as soon as possible, though he did not name a time or day. I deeply regret I cannot tell you more."

The two kings exchanged a look, then Queen Susan said to Othniel, "We thank you for your timely warning. I will have our Seneschal find you both rooms and clothes. Sir Giles, bout you mind finding Lord Jerime and asking him to help these guests feel at home?"

The Fox bowed and indicated with a flick of his tail the two former slaves to follow him. Othniel began to do so when he was arrested by Calae's voice. He looked back to see her looking directly at Queen Lucy and saying with a pleading tone in her voice, "Your Majesty, I do not possess such gift of speech as Othniel, but I do make so bold as to ask your gracious majesty for shelter for my fellow slaves, now sheltered in the ship _Karabos_. I fear, for the most part, that their spirits are broken by ill usage, but I think that with protection and good care, many of them could start new lives. But if this be too bold, I do most humbly beg your majesties' pardons all."

Othniel looked with apprehension to see how the monarchs received this, after all, fobbing off a bunch of slaves on Royalty is not something done in the usual run of things, and in Calormen, anyone who dared suggest such a thing- Othniel shuddered to think what would happen.

But Queen Susan was only asking Calae how many there were. Calae timidly said she didn't think above twenty. Queen Lucy said to her sister, "Oh, we can keep them in the Cair! We've room, and I can ask Cook to make something for them very fast, and I'm sure Lord Jerime wouldn't mind finding them some beds and clothes and things. Oh, Lord Jerime," the Queen began again rather breathlessly, to a man who had just entered, "would you mind finding clothes and rooms for about twenty people? I will see to the food."

The man - Lord Jerime - seemed not at all fazed by this torrent of words and duties. "Certainly, your Majesty. Rooms might be a bit tricky, for the West Wing is full of foreign delegates, and the East Wing with local ones, but I will open one of the attics. They should be habitable, although they have not been opened since last winter, but as long as your Majesty does not think these twenty people would mind waiting an hour or so until they can be got ready, they would work admirably."

Queen Lucy laughed and whirled around once. "I knew we could fix it! Susan, Brothers, with your permission," and then not waiting for their permission, or anything else for that matter, linked arms with Calae and calling for Othniel and Lord Jerime, she led Calae, laughing and chattering, down the hall.

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Sorry for the lack of length, I do hope to be more regular in my updates from now on. Feedback is great!


	9. Chapter 9

AN: (hides behind Othniel) I am so very, very sorry for the long wait! Othniel, with his nice, sharp knives is going to keep me in line in the future. Right?

Othniel: Uh, yeahhh.

* * *

Othniel and Lord Jerime followed the ladies at a slightly more moderated pace.

"Sir,"Othniel ventured after a moment, "thank you very much for your help. I - we - well, all of us, I'm sure, are very grateful to you, but if you could tell the Queen she doesn't need to, we really don't, that is, well, you see, none of us deserves all this, and who knows what kind of people their Majesties are letting into their castle? Why, some of them could have been sold as a result of theft or murder."

Beside Othniel, Lord Jerime stopped. "Perhaps you could slow down a bit, and let us begin at the beginning. Certainly, none of us deserve anything, but why should that stop us from helping others? Now, I am not sure I understand the second part of what you are saying. You mean that these twenty people we are sheltering were bought and sold like Dumb Animals?"

Othniel nodded.

"That," Lord Jerime continued, slowly and emphatically, "is a barbaric practice, and I hope Aslan will punish whoever makes a living off of these broken hearts and souls very, very severely. It is no wonder Queen Lucy wanted clothes. Judging by what you have on, and also that young lady with the queen, you could all use a new set of clothes and several baths." He ended with a chuckle.

Something that had been bothering Othniel ever since he had heard the plan to demolish Narnia came to his mind now and he asked Lord Jerime again,

"Sir? If you had overheard a plan two of your masters were talking about, one that concerned a country you had only heard about in fairy tales, can you think of any reason why you would betray your masters and risk your life to warn said country?"

Lord Jerime slowed and turned his head to look at Othniel. "I can think of several reasons, but they in and of themselves are not very strong. One reason might be I was angry at my masters, and so wished to foil their plans. Another might be common decency, and the wish for this fairy tale country to have a spoting chance. The last reason I can think of is that Aslan Himself might have willed it so."

By now they had slowed even more. "My lord, Master Onnas was kind enough to explain who Aslan was, but I am afraid I did not understand him very well. Is Aslan like Tash, only without the sacrifices and anger?" Othniel asked.

The Lord shook his head. "No, no. Tash could never even remotely compare to Aslan. You see, Aslan is more. He isn't just another god to be added to the list, He is above all that. Your gods - do they answer you? Do they speak and walk with you? Do they laugh and yes, even play with you? And _could_ they do so without demeaning themselves one iota? No. They cannot. But Aslan can, and yet inspire fear and reverent awe in the hearts of all. He is the most wondrous, the most awesome, the most _alive_, the most, well, the _most._"

Othniel looked at the man beside him. His face was shining and there was a vibrant quality to his voice that had not been there even when talking to the kings and queens.

"Have you - have you ever seen Him, sir?"

"Aye. I have." His face took on a numinous quality, then he smiled. "But Othniel, you must stop calling me sir. Why, I'll wager - how old are you?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

"There you are! You are as old as I, so no more of of this 'sir' or 'lord'. Now I think we had best hurry, for your friend and Queen Lucy are far ahead."

So down at the boat, they watched the two ladies (for Calae was as much a lady as the queen, Othniel thought), with gentle words of reassurance, help all the former captives into the Cair, and with merry comforting words, got them all into the dining hall.

Othniel found himself sitting down, with the others, to a sumptuous repast of pavenders, (a fish he had never before heard of) crispy, soft bread, spread with smooth creamy stuff, sausage bursting with spices and piping hot, gravy to go over the pavenders, and to drink there was spiced wine, cider, fresh milk, or clear water.

One of the light green serving girls, with ivy in her hair, shyly whispered to him that both the water and the Naiad that lived in it were very famous for their beauty and taste.

After the dinner was over, Lord Jerime came into the room, and bowing asked them all up to their quarters as grandly as if they were great Tarkaans and Tarkheenas.

Othniel, turning to leave the hall, looked back for Calae, and saw her staring wide-eyed at something just entering the hall from the far side. Naturally, he turned to look too.

It was a Unicorn. Othniel had never seen one, but he had heard stories.

Irrationally, all he could think of was how pleased Lasaraleen would be if he brought it to her, then tripping on the heels of that thought came the shocked and slightly abashed remembrance that the Creatures of this land were not dumb creatures, to be prodded and sold at the will of their masters.

Looking at Calae again, he saw that she had ceased moving, and was still standing in the exit, though nearly everyone else had left.

Lord Jerime, who had also noticed where Calae was looking, gave Othniel a grin and walked towards her; touching her on the shoulder.

She whirled around quickly, a look of fear coming and going swiftly across her face.

"Oh, sir," Calae breathed, "is that, I mean, surely it must be..." at Lord Jerime's nod she whispered, "a Unicorn!"

Lord Jerime smiled again. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

Calae, her face alight with joy, hurried forward.

Othniel, still waiting in the doorway saw, rather than heard the introduction. The Unicorn graciously inclined her head to Calae and spoke a few words that made Calae's face shine.

A minute or so later Calae and Lord Jerime came back. "Oh Othniel, I've always wanted to see a Unicorn, and meeting one was simply breathtaking! Her name is Reaia, and she is the daughter of the Unicorn Flisk, whom King Peter rides. She says I can come visit her sometime, and I asked if I could bring you to meet her, and she said yes! So we can go tomorrow maybe, and then-"

"Lady," Lord Jerime interrupted, "Belike we could discuss this later, I think we had best get you into bed as soon as possible."

Calae showed signs of arguing, but he bent and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and with a glance at Othniel, turned and led the way out.

Othniel looked suspiciously at Lord Jerime. "What did you tell her?"

He grinned unrepentantly. "I merely suggested you might be in need of rest, having had such a full day.

"Why!" Othniel exclaimed, then took off running after Calae to the sound of the lord's laughter.

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So! What thinkest thou? If you review, you get a cyber cookie!


	10. Chapter 10

Eh...Hullo! Um...really, I have no excuse. I can only fall on my face and beg your forgiveness for the inexcusable wait. Enjoy this installment, and I won't let such a dreadful length of time to go by again. If I can help it...

* * *

Othniel found her chatting with Queen Lucy as freely as though they had known one another all their lives.

"...and then Laus fell off and landed in the sheep pen. It had just rained, so you can imagine how Mother scolded him for mussing his holiday clothes!"

"Certainly! And I can guess that it cured him of showing off for a while too!" The queen added, laughing.

Othniel found himself laughing as well; the queen had a very infectious laugh.

"Now, Lord Jerime," Queen Lucy said, turning to him, "We have made the beds, and the poor people have all had a wash and gotten new clothes. I'm afraid some of the gentlemen will have to sleep on the floor, but we have made it as comfortable as we could. Fortunately, we have plenty of blankets."

The Queen turned to the former slaves and spoke a few words of welcome. It was a simple speech, with no pomp or ceremony, but merely a heartfelt, cheering reception. She assured them they were welcome at Cair Paravel for as long as they wanted to stay, and all assistance would be given them if they wished to go home.

After the speech Queen Lucy came towards Othniel. "Othniel, before you sleep, my brothers would like to speak with you. Lord Jerime will take you to them - they are in the small council room, Jerime - and I will join you all presently." She threw Othniel a reassuring smile and hurried out of the room.

Othniel looked around the cheerful room. Former slaves were contentedly pulling down covers and climbing into beds. He looked longingly at his bed, on the floor next to a big window, and with a sigh he waved goodbye to Calae and followed Lord Jerime out the door.

The Lord seemed to realize Othniel did not want to talk, and was quiet. As they halted outside the council room, however, he put his hand on Othniel's arm. "Othniel, the kings' first priority is to please Aslan, and their second Narnia's safety, but they will be just, and if it happens what you overheard was only a rumour, they will be glad you told them of it. Now, my friend, go in, and Aslan go with thee." And with that he knocked on the door.

A voice said, "Come in."

And drawing a deep breath, Othniel opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was arched with great, carved panels of wood; strange and awesome figures chasing each other around the room, over the high, arched ceiling, and disappearing abruptly at the floor, only to begin again at the other end of the room.

Many coloured tapestries depicting scenes from battles, harvests, and sieges hung on the walls, and two large windows were at one end of the room.

A curved table went round nearly all the room. There were chairs in which the few Humans sat, Centaurs stood around the table, some Animals sat on the table, and - Othniel blinked in surprise - a Bat hung above the table.

King Peter looked up from the papers in front of him. "Othniel, come and have a seat. Our brother Edmund has sent Siitl to check the position of the Calormen invaders, and they are less than a day and a half away. Othniel, we are in your debt."

To Othniel's complete shock, the King bowed. Hastily, Othniel stood and bowed back. "Your Majesty, it was my privilege to serve you. In truth, I think the gods ordered it so, for I have long wished to live in a place where it is not a crime to speak as you please, and help others without being mocked for't."

King Peter smiled. "Then we will consider the other's debt canceled, but if ever you have need of anything, it would be our honour to serve you."

Othniel bowed again in acknowledgement and sat again.

"Now, friends, " The High King said, "Thank you all for your help. We have a day to prepare for this invasion. They will attempt to dock tomorrow night, but we will be ready for them. You all know your places, so now to work. General, if you would stay a moment. You as well, Othniel."

After the others left, Queen Lucy came in with Calae.

King Edmund addressed Calae. "Lady Calae, some soldiers from an outpost further down the coast has apprehended some men who say they are the survivors of a wreak. My soldiers do not believe they are telling the truth, and, knowing your story, I asked my men to detain them until their story could be verified. I ask you now if you would be good enough to travel down the coast and identify them. Othniel, I wondered if you would accompany the Lady."

Othniel looked at Calae. Her eyes were shining. "Your Majesty, this is no task for me. I have heard wondrous things of your land, the opportunity to see more of it is a pleasure, no duty."

"Excellent. Othniel?"

"As the lady wishes." Othniel said with a smile for Calae. She flashed a quick smile back and turned to Queen Lucy. The two began chattering about what clothes Calae should take, and and what people to see, and what they must be sure and look for, and all the things that women do talk about on such occasions.

Othniel looked away from the ladies to the kings in time to see them exchange a most un-kingly eye roll, and he blinked in surprise. These Narnian monarchs were certainly...different.

Then King Peter said to him, "We will, of course, provide you with a map and guards. You have some skill with a blade, I think, friend?"

"Some, my lord, but my chief talent lies with knives. I had some of my own, but those pirates..."

The King Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "I have seen some of the Calormene tricks with knives - "

Othniel wondered, wincing, if the king been the attempted target of some of the more...unsavory ones. The Tisroc had dispatched at least eight foreign dignitaries that way, he knew.

"- and found them intensely interesting."

Othniel did not miss the word 'intensely'. He guessed he had been correct about the assassination attempts.

"We have a pair of Calormene knives in the armory if you would like to try them."

"Oh!" Othniel's hands clenched, remembering the feel of the cool, smooth grip of his knives. "Your majesty is too kind."

"Come," King Edmund said, clapping him on the shoulder, "I would count it a favour. They were a gift from the Tisroc, and I have long wondered if they are any good. Brother," he continued, turning to the High King, "as soon as there is a break in the ladies', ah, _discussion_, do tell them where we have gone."

Then Edmund led the way out, pretending not to notice Peter's highly disgruntled expression as he sank back in his chair, forced to wait until the ladies' chatter was concluded.

At the armoury King Edmund greeted the Faun at the door. "Good day, Master Retik, I wish to show Othniel here the knives we got from Calormen last Spring?"

The Faun bowed. "Ah, yes, your majesty, they are yet in the back room with the ornamental pieces, having never yet been tested."

"Excellent."

As Othniel followed the king further back into the cool building, he marveled at the sheer mass of the weaponry gathered here. And he did not doubt that they were all of the highest caliber.

"Here we are." The king said.

Othniel turned round to see a pair of knives in the king's hands. They were identical to Othniel's old ones, save an expensive looking ruby in the pommel of each. The leather wrapped handles matched the dark leather sheaths perfectly, and the belt was the same leather, except for a solid gold belt buckle, heavy, dark and plain.

It seemed an unusual gift for the Tisroc to give, a weapon that actually was useful. Usually if a country was not on the best of terms with another it did not give presents that could -potentially- injure their own men. "Were these truly from the Tisroc?" He asked, taking them carefully.

King Edmund arched one dark eyebrow. "By way of his ambassador, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it just seems odd, because - " Othniel slid them smoothly out of their sheaths, twirled them around to get a sense of the balance and threw them deep into one of the dark wall posts. "-because these are excellent weapons. They have seen use, most probably by a Calormene Tarkaan. Why would the Tisroc give them to you instead of one of his Tarkaans or advisors?" He retrieved them from the post and slid them back into their sheaths.

"You bring up a good point." The king took out a small whistle and blew. No sound that Othniel could detect came from it, but almost immediately a small bat came swooping in to sit on the king's shoulder. The king whispered something, and the Bat ducked his head in a sort of bow and took off again. "I'll look into it. Again, my thanks."

"My honour, your majesty." He held the knives out to the king, hilt first. "The quality is excellent."

Edmund took them and then handed them back. "Keep them. As thanks from us all. I fear you will need them in the days ahead." He handed Othniel the belt and sheaths. "Use them only in defense of the weak and helpless, prey not on those less fortunate than yourself, and ever seek Aslan's will and blessing before you do battle."

Othniel bowed his head. "I will, my lord. Thank you."

"Ed! Cook says that if you don't come right away, she won't be able to keep Peter away from your raisin pies much longer!" Lucy, with Calae beside her, appeared in the doorway.

The king looked solemnly at Othniel. "Take my advice and never have a brother. They are forever eating your favourite pies."

Othniel stared, then began to laugh, "Your majesty, I think I am out of danger, but thank you for the warning."

Calae chimed in, "I can second that, Othniel. Edrian stole half my apple flan at lunch yesterday." She too was laughing. Then she caught sight of his knives and drew in a breath. "Oh! May I see?"

"You like knives, Lady Calae?" King Edmund asked.

"I used to sneak out with my brother's and practice throwing them." She smiled. "I like to think I attained some degree of proficiency."

Queen Lucy quietly moved from her place in the doorway, went over to the Red Dwarf polishing a knife and whispered something in his ear. He got up and they went out the door into a smaller room off the side.

"If you'll excuse me," King Edmund said, "I'm going to go rescue my pies from the voracious appitite of Narnia's High King. Othniel, Peter will want to talk to you before you leave tomorrow."

"Certainly, my lord." Othniel watched him leave, then turned to Calae, "Calae..."

She looked up. "Yes, Othniel?"

"I..." Why was his throat so dry all of a sudden? "I was wondering if you would - that is, I would like you to -" He took a deep breath. "The king has honoured me greatly by giving me these knives, but I would be more honoured if you were to belt them on me."

She looked at him, standing there awkwardly holding the belt in his hands, and swept him a deep curtsy. "My lord Othniel, _I _would be honoured."

"Thank you." Did she know, Othniel wondered, that in Calormen this was traditionally done by the soldier's wife or lover?

Calae glanced up at him as she knelt and fastened the belt around his waist. And the smile she gave him sent waves of red over his neck and ears. He had the feeling she knew.

"There." Calae stood and admired it. "It makes you look like a man. _Almost._" She gave him a teasing glance. "Now you just need a -"

"Calae," Queen Lucy interrupted, "this is for you." She held out a slender dagger in a sheath inlaid with silver.

"Oh!" Calae touched it almost reverently. "Is it really for me?"

"Absolutely!" The queen's face shone, and Othniel realized anew that these Narnians found astonishing joy in giving.

Calae turned to Othniel and said hesitantly, "I know it's only traditional for the women to do it for the men, but - would you?" She held out the sheath.

Othniel took it and knelt in front of her. "My lady Calae, it is my honour."

* * *

Aw! So we finally get some fluff. If you can call it that. I have no right to ask this...but...review?


	11. Chapter 11

Just before Othniel fell asleep that night, his hand resting on his knives, he heard Calae murmur from across the room, "Aslan, I thank you for this day. May tomorrow be as wonderful, and help me...help me to trust you."

Quietly, unsure, Othniel whispered, "Aslan, I don't know if Someone as wonderful as You could really exist, but if You do, I want to know you."

It was still dark next morning when he woke to a soft voice calling his name. He rolled over and opened his eyes to see Calae smiling down at him. "Othniel, Lord Jerime says there is breakfast ready for us before we leave."

Othniel replied, "Coming, go on," and hastily followed her out the door and greeted Lord Jerime, who was waiting outside.

They followed him down to a smaller room than the one they had eaten in the day before. Along the way Othniel tried very hard (and mostly succeeded) in not staring at the Animals and the other...well, if he had seen them in Calormen, he probably would have called them demons.

Great, massive horses with the torso and head of a man, men with goats' legs from the waist down, women with green skin and hair, women that seemed to be dripping water (but it never reached the floor) it was all so...otherworldly.

The breakfast, although unlike any Othniel had ever had, was delicious, and he was half-sorry when it was time to go make ready to leave.

Not that he had anything to pack, the clothes he had on and the knives King Edmund had given him were all he owned, but he supposed one of the kings would have some final instructions for him. So thinking, he followed Lord Jerime out through the massive gates, past the Centaur guards and out into the courtyard.

"Othniel." He turned to see King Edmund looking at him gravely. "I sent Firlk to look into that matter of the fighting knives. The Tisroc did have an ulterior motive, as it turns out. The knives belonged to the Tarkaan Ilgamuth, who fell in that unwarranted attack on Archenland several years ago, if you remember. The knives were sent back to his family, and his mother, who is a _wicca_, put a spell on them." He hesitated. "The spell, well, it's unusual to say the least." The king smiled twistedly. "The next blood shed by the knives will wake the dead spirit of Ilgamuth."

Othniel's hand went involuntarily to the knives belted around his waist. "What should I do?"

King Edmund turned his head and nodded to someone. "I have taken the liberty of asking Vilnus to see if there is any way to circumvent or break this spell. He thinks he has found a way."

A Faun stepped forward and bowed. "Sir, the solution is...uncomfortable, but it will almost certainly work."

"What is it, sir?" Othniel asked anxiously.

"If the blood that is spilled is the blood of the present owner, the spell is negated and the previous owner will rest in as much peace as he deserves."

"So...I have to wound myself with the knives, and then...nothing will happen?" Othniel asked slowly.

"That is correct."

"Well." Othniel slid a knife out and took a deep breath. "Here goes." Swiftly he made a quick cut across his palm.

All three stiffened, waiting. Nothing happened.

"I suppose that's it, then." Breathing a sigh of relief, Othniel carefully wiped the blood off the knife and sheathed it. "Have you any further instructions for me, Majesty?"

"Yes, if you'll come with me I'll introduce you to your guard. It is small, of course, but I believe it will suffice. Thank you, Vilnus." The Faun bowed and trotted off.

"Guard, Sire?" Othniel asked.

"You'll have Reaia, Clemas, and Leena. And, Othniel," King Edmund turned to him, "they have never been in battle."

Othniel nodded, understanding the unspoken warning and charge.

"They have their orders to obey you," A Hummingbird darted up and hovered by the king's ear for the briefest fraction before darting away again. The king sighed. "I'm sorry, I must to a meeting, but Lord Jerime will introduce you."

Othniel bowed, and then, straightening, looked around for Lord Jerime. He was nowhere to be seen, but Othniel caught sight of Edrian across the courtyard. Rapidly, he made his way across to him and with a quick intake of breath, he made his blunt request. "As your sister's nearest relative, Edrian, may I have your permission to wed Calae?"

"What?" Edrian, much to Othniel's consternation, looked stunned. "You...you want to...to wed Calae?"

"If she will have me."

"Why?"

"Because I love her."

"Why?"

"Why do we love anything? I love her because she is herself."

Edrian, still looking stunned, glanced about, as though in search of help.

It came in the form of Calae herself, who skidded to a stop just in front of them. "Othniel, come and meet our guard! Queen Lucy introduced me, and just think! Reaia is coming! And a nice Faun and a Centauress that's the daughter of General Orieus that I met outside the council room. You must come quick!" And she was on the point of whirling away again when her brother caught her by the arm.

"Calae, Othniel has something he wants to ask you." Edrian smiled at Othniel. "Aslan's blessings on you, brother." Then he walked away, leaving Othniel staring after him in amazing delight.

Calae looked at Othniel inquiringly. "Yes, Othniel?"

"Well," Othniel began, rather awkwardly, "I know this is rather abrupt, but I did want to ask before we left, though of course I don't know if you'll want to or not, so it really might not matter, but-" he realized he was rambling and stopped. "I'm not doing a very good job of this, am I?"

"No, not really. I still have no idea what you wanted to ask me. Maybe you should start over?"

"Right." Othniel took a deep breath. Drawing his knives with one swift motion, he laid them at Calae's feet. "Will you be my wife?"

It was perhaps a bit odd for Othniel to use a Calormene soldier's method of proposing to his love, but as he had no idea what the customs of her land were, he thought he had best stick to what he knew. He just hoped she knew the significance.

_{Digression}_

_The tradition of laying one's knives at the feet of the woman a soldier wished to marry stemmed from the soldier's trade. When a soldier took service with a lord, he signified his loyalty for life by laying his weapon at the lord's feet. Thus putting his life in the lord's hands. If the lord wished to refuse the offer, he could pick them up and, keeping the hilt in his own hand, extend the weapon blade first toward the soldier. If the lord wished to accept the soldier's service, he picked the knives up and, holding them hilt first, presented them back to the soldier._

_{End Digression}_

Calae stared down at the knives by her feet. She bent and picked them up, hesitating a moment with them in her hands. Then -"I will." She reversed the knives and handed them to him hilt first. "So now we've got that settled, can we leave?"

"I - you- wh-?" Othniel stammered, astonished at the seeming casualness with which she had answered him.

"Othniel, I've been wanting you to ask me for weeks." She smiled shyly up at him. "Don't be too surprised I accepted right away."

Calae stood on her toes and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Come on, they're waiting for us."

* * *

Duckies, I am most severely displeased. I got one (1) review last chapter. Why, pray tell? Either no one is reading this, or they weren't decent enough to drop a line telling me they were. Really, loves, it's not that hard. SO please. Review?


	12. Author's Note

I am so very sorry, my friends, but this story is TEMPORARILY on hiatus. I will finish it, Lion willing, but I am revising the earlier chapters, and so will finish that before I post another new chapter. Again, my deepest apologies. Check in a couple (few) weeks (months) for the revised edition of "The Tarkheena's Guard".

Lion's Blessing,

Eavis


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